


Baby Bonding

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Dwarves, Durin Family, Durin Feels, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin never quite knows how to deal with two young Dwarflings who like to tug on his braids and try to ride on his legs as he walks. Dis tells him he needs to find a way to bond with them but Thorin is at a loss for how he can do that.<br/>One day, Thorin comes across an unusual scene: his tiny nephews sitting quietly, absorbed in their tasks. Carefully, he approaches them and of course, gets a lapful of eager Dwarflings before he knows what's happening.</p>
<p>
  <b>This is pure, unabashed fluff, folks. Merry Christmas!</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20784639#t20784639

“You have to spend time with them.”

Thorin is stiff on his feet. He hears his sister speaking, but he is not really listening. He has worked it out a long time ago, back when they were mere Dwarflings, how to arrange his expression in such a way that his face would _look_ attentive, even when his mind is not involved.

“Are you listening to me?” Dis’ voice is starting to rise in the way that it does when she is irked. That is not surprising in the least. After all, Dis has a temper that rivals – well – Thorin himself.

“That depends,” Thorin replies sensibly. He’s perfected his responses too.

“Thorin,” she shakes her head in exasperation. “They _adore_ you.”

Finally, Thorin turns his head and _looks_ at his sister. She has her arms crossed, as though she is admonishing a child. With her dark hair and strikingly blue eyes, she looks so much like their mother. Dis is of course, a mother herself now and she is referring to her own sons. Born within five years of each other, Fili and Kili are in many ways, sparks of joy and hope to their people. The folks of Ered Luin look upon them as their own little princes. Balin and Dwalin dote on them with stern, yet paternal affection. Bofur, Bombur and Bifur craft innumerable toys of remarkable skill for them.

It has been a terribly long time since Thorin had dealt with Dwarflings – not since _his_ own siblings were born. At this point in time, Thorin thinks they are tiny versions of adult Dwarves and he is not quite sure what to make of them. When his sister-sons were babes and hadn’t discovered speech, he was better with them. Back then, they were bundles of softness, which he could pass on to Dis if they started bawling. Now, however.

He feels a frown gathering on his face already. _Now_ Fili is nine, Kili is four, and Thorin is at a loss. Fili has an intense interest in Thorin’s braids and never fails to somehow get his hands tangled up in them. Kili, on the other hand, has discovered that he is small enough to latch onto Thorin’s leg when he passes by, and would cling like a limpet to Thorin every chance he gets.

Thorin finds it all very disconcerting and mildly alarming. He is _infinitely_ better at commandeering his soldiers. The idea hits him then. Perhaps he does have something to impart to his sister-sons.

“I can teach them how to set traps for Orc packs,” Thorin suggests. “Use troop formations to win a battle with minimal bloodshed.”

Dis stares at him for a long, meaningful moment. “Do that, brother, and I’ll hunt you down myself.”

And that was how their last conversation ended.

++++++++++

Truth be told, Thorin has completely forgotten about that particular conversation. And he doesn’t recall it until he finds himself in Dis’ abode and there is silence within.

Not the calm before a storm, but _actual silence_ of the serene kind. More often than not, Dis’ house will be in a state of chaos. Dwarfling voices screaming and laughing and echoing up and down all hallways. Tiny figures running in and out of chambers, or popping up from whatever crannies they had been hiding in and cackling with glee.

This day?

Peace.

Thorin wonders if he’s somehow lost his way and wound up in a stranger’s dwelling. But no, he is in his sister’s home, invited here at on this specific day at this specific time.

Still feeling out-of-sorts, he heads deeper into the dwelling. Dis is nowhere to be found, which is strange. Eventually, he finds himself outside a chamber that he somewhat recognises. The colourful drawings tacked to the door are tell-tale signs that this is the boys’ room. His ears pick out soft scratching sounds, but no child voices, which is highly unusual.

Inhaling deeply, Thorin pushes the door open and enters the chamber. He _stares_.

Two small figures are lying on their fronts on a heap of blankets littering the stone floors. They are very quiet and absorbed in their work. Their backs are to Thorin and they do not seem to notice his presence. As he approaches them, Thorin sees that Fili is writing something very intently in a large book a third of his size, while Kili is busy drawing on a piece of parchment, his colour stick making that scratching noise Thorin heard.

Hmph. This is not a scene that one chances upon very often. His mischievous and too-energetic nephews sitting so still and concentrating so hard on their tasks.

Fili is the first to spot him. He looks up and his eyes widen. “Uncle!” his mouth forms an ‘O’ of surprise.

Echoing his big brother, Kili rolls around onto his rump and cries out in delight, “Unca Towin!”

Uncle Thorin has little choice but to sit himself down and try his best to accommodate a sudden lapful of Dwarflings. The boys clamber eagerly into his embrace and like most brothers, immediately begin bickering about who should sit where and _your arm is in my face, you meanie meanie meanie!_ Thorin’s mind has never worked out a problem this swiftly before. Smoothly, he pulls Kili onto one thigh and tucks the little one under one arm, putting a hand onto his legs to stop him from poking his brother with his toes just to annoy him. Fili is a little bigger – just a little, never mind the five-year difference in age – and so Fili is draped over his free arm, with his golden head resting on Thorin’s shoulder.

Now that the boys are settled and appeased, not entirely to Thorin’s comfort but that hardly matters to them, they chatter like excited little mice.

“Where’s your mother?” Thorin speaks _over_ them, trying to get himself heard above the din.

“Go-sher,” Kili answers at once.

“ _Grocer_ ,” Fili corrects him with a dramatic sigh. “She needs to get flour and bacon.”

Thorin shelves away that information at the back of his mind, making a mental note to speak to Dis about leaving the boys alone at home. “And what have you been doing?” he asks next.

All at once, the boys hold up their work in their small hands and thrust them into Thorin’s face for approval. There is perhaps, some measure of over-enthusiasm on the lads’ parts, and Thorin realises with a small twinge of regret that they are behaving as though they are starved for his affection.

_They adore you_ , Dis’ voice announces huffily in his mind.

Thorin sighs inwardly and gives in to the situation. He takes Kili’s work first and scrutinises it, trying to comprehend what he is seeing. It looks like a mess of coloured lines. “Are these people, Kili?” he says finally, completely stumped.

The little dwarrow just giggles like Thorin is a particularly stupid uncle. “Me,” he explains most imperiously, one chubby finger pointing to a deformed blue-lined shape. “And Fee’ee,” he continues, jabbing at another wobbly shape in green.

As if the fog is suddenly lifted from his eyes, Thorin realises that the last shape – in bright red, no less – curving around the blue and green shapes is a giant _heart_ for love.

“I wuv Fee’ee,” Kili declares with the pure and steadfast conviction that only children possess.

Thorin finds himself smiling, despite his initial misgivings. “Your drawing is beautiful,” he tells his younger nephew, knowing he’s said the right thing when the boy grins like a ray of light. Then, he turns to his older nephew. “And you, Fili? What have you written?”

Fili’s face is half-hidden against his neck and Thorin suspects the boy is actually bashful at the sudden attention given to him.

“Mister Balin told me to write about my family,” Fili says, lifting his head and squirming in embarrassment as he presents his writing to Thorin. “There are five members in my family. Papa, Mama, Kili, me and Uncle Thorin,” he recites aloud, cheeks getting pinker by the moment. “I wish Uncle Thorin will visit us more. I love my family.”

“And me!” Kili pipes up.

“And Kili,” Fili repeats with a somewhat long-suffering wrinkle of his nose.

Thorin opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and studies that line about himself in Fili’s writing.  Has he really been that distant?

“You don’t like it, uncle?” Fili says abruptly, his voice small and worried. Perched on Thorin’s other thigh, tiny Kili is starting to look indignant for his brother’s sake. His lower lip juts out dangerously.

“I like it,” Thorin assures both of them, fairly unsettled by the lightning mood changes in Dwarflings. He eyes that writing again, with its blocky lettering and painfully earnest innocence, and reminds himself that he shouldn’t make promises to children unless he can keep them. “I’ll try to,” he tells his sister-sons. “Visit you more often.”

Fili flashes him a sweet, dimpled smile. Kili chuckles and babbles something incoherent about _Unca_ and _wuv_ and _Fee’ee_.

This is going better than expected, Thorin thinks to himself. He cautiously congratulates himself on his first proper attempt at bonding with his little nephews. If this is an example for future sessions, surely he’ll be able to fulfill his promise to the lads. Perhaps he can even care for them when Dis needs to run errands.

Naturally, just when Thorin is feeling most pleased with himself, he is unceremoniously dragged back to reality.

“Draw me and Fee’ee, Unca!” Kili demands loudly.

“Braid my hair, pleeeeeeeeease?” Fili adds, all earlier shyness clean forgotten.

“Then you draw Mama, Papa, Mista Ba’in, Mista Da’in, Mista Boff, Mista Beef, Mista Bom – ”

“I want braids like yours, Uncle.”

Thorin stares at his very young sister-sons and decides he needs to re-think his baby-bonding plans.

++++++++++

An hour later, when Dis decides that she has stayed out of sight and out of hearing long enough, she slides open the door to her sons’ chamber and peeks inside.

There is a soft snoring coming from somewhere on the floor.

Lying on a somewhat haphazard pile of blankets, the great Thorin is sprawled on his back, his eyes closed. A tiny Dwarfling is nestled on his chest, unruly black curls strewn all over Thorin’s neck. The other boy can hardly be seen, blanketed by a massive, muscled arm, and his face tucked into his uncle’s side. Only a tuft of golden hair sprouting out of the mess of limbs indicates Fili’s presence.

Dis’ eyes traverse slowly around the room, the twinkle in her gaze glowing even brighter as it rests on several objects.

An enormous parchment filled with elaborate art of two little boy-figures surrounded by every adult who’s ever loved them.

Braid clasps scattered on the floor, the finest of which have ended up woven into Fili’s hair.

Carefully, quietly, and committing the image forever to memory, Dis closes the door again.

 

 

_finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme say it again: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! *hands out baby Dwarves*


End file.
